


Did You Stand Too Close to the Fire Like a Liar Searching for Forgiveness?

by chemicalburnfromthespiralperm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalburnfromthespiralperm/pseuds/chemicalburnfromthespiralperm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows there's somethin' between those boys that ain't right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Stand Too Close to the Fire Like a Liar Searching for Forgiveness?

_“Way you look at your brother’s wrong, boy.”_

He’d never admit it. It’s easier to look past it, ignore it, pretend it’s not there because they’re Winchesters and they don’t talk about things, they just push past them, push more things on top of the old things, find new things to overcome because something like this is too hard to look dead in the face. They’re Winchesters, and they don’t talk about their problems, they just slather more shit on top of them until the old problems are so buried over that they don’t hardly exist anymore.

You can’t smooth over incest.

It starts in Soda Springs, California on a night late in June. It’s the 21st, longest and hottest day of the year and John’s so worn out that his bones are creaking, every single joint in his body is aching as he walks back up the trail that leads to the cabin they’re staying in. There’s a lake about a mile out, and that’s where Sam and Dean are now. The realization twists ugly in his gut, hot and dirty and his face twists into an uncanny version of disgust.

With the knowledge planted firmly in his head, he turns, walks the path that leads down to the old, mostly abandoned lake. Since it’s the longest day of the year, the sun still hasn’t set yet even though it’s nearly nine o’clock. He can see his boys, splashing and twisting in the water, and that kinda hurts even more. They look so damn happy.

John’s only one man, and he kind of has to wonder if that’s what you get when you raise your oldest son to think that his only purpose in life is to take care of the youngest. He can only blame himself. Shouldn’t have taken them hunting. Shoulda dropped them off with Mary’s sister, but they’re his boys, they’re his and he doesn’t know that God set them up to be this way, doesn’t know that their souls are one of the few hand picked by God to be soulmates. 

Sam is 10 and Dean is 14 and they’re looking at each other across the lake and John has to wonder if they even know what this means, if Sam is even old enough to know the difference. He doesn’t have to worry about Sam the way he worries about Dean—worries about Dean running away or having sex with girls. Shit, he’s only fourteen. John didn’t lose his virginity until he was 19. Dean’s cocky, smart, a spitfire and a charmer. John’ll be shocked if Dean still has it when he’s 15.

They’re in the lake and no one is watching them, except John but he’s so far out that they can’t see him and then they’re hugging, and hugging turns into shoving real quick and then Sam is climbing on Dean’s back, trying to get him under the water as a joke, but Dean’s bigger, way bigger, Sam’s the smallest 10 year old John’s ever seen. They both come up out of the water struggling for air and that’s when John sees it, that’s when John sees the look in Dean’s eyes. It’s fleeting, wouldn’t have caught it if he weren’t lookin’ for it, but he was and he does see it. It’s a warmth John has never seen in the boy.

Sam grins up at his brother, hair wild and ruthless a top his head, falling every which way, and Dean reaches out his hand, smooths over the rough patches until his hair is neat and tidy, and that’s when Sam wraps his arms around his brother’s torso. Sam is saying something, he can tell by the way Dean laughs. Dean starts for a second, unsure of what to do before he wraps his own arms around Sam. They’re naked, touching skin to skin, and that sets off a weird feeling in the pit of John’s stomach. There’s a look about Dean that says he’s more than happy that Sam is touching him, and it might be a look of love but John’s too jaded, too hurt and too worn to be worryin’ about that. Dean leans his head down and presses a kiss to the top of Sam’s head and that’s when John Winchester wants to throw up.

He calls them with a rough voice, rough and hard and cracked around the edges from too much screaming, too much yelling, too much whiskey thrown down his gullet. 

“Sam, Dean! Get your asses in that cabin, now!”

It pains him to shout at them but if he doesn’t, they won’t respect him. Needs their respect to discipline them. Needs their respect, otherwise he can’t keep ‘em safe.

They struggle out of the water, splashing but not laughing. They know John is mad, they can sense it, even though John isn’t mad, he’s just tired but John knows they’d rather go into this thinking that John is mad. They have less of a chance of messin’ up, sayin’ somethin’ stupid if they just keep quiet and think he’s pissed off.

They come bounding into the house making so much noise that John wants to chop his own head off and he doesn’t mean to curse at them, but he does. The words just kinda slip out without his permission nowadays.

He can’t watch them. He can’t bare to look at them right now. If he does, he’ll either start yellin’ or start throwing up, or both.

They’re both too nervous, too scared to object when John sends them to their separate rooms. He made a point to make sure they were in different rooms. He doesn’t know, doesn’t really care, if they understand why, but he feels a little better when they reluctantly shuffle off. They’re kids, they’re just kids, they don’t know any better, but Dean is fourteen. He has to. He has to know better…

The next time they’re in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The next time makes John backhand Dean across the face.


End file.
